Wings of the Wicked
Page 64

“Sleep.”
And I slipped into oblivion.
PART TWO
The Mortal Archangel
19
I WOKE UP SCREAMING.
I sat straight up and threw out my arms in rage. Someone shoved my chest and slammed me back into the bed. He pinned me down, but he couldn’t hold me forever. I broke free and struck him in the face, ripping his lip open. I flew off the bed and made a dash for the door as he screamed my name and grabbed at me, his fingers only tagging my clothes. I was too fast and too wild. Then he screamed someone else’s name, and another attacker appeared in the room. Two pairs of arms took strong hold of me and dragged me across the room.
That word slithered through my brain again: “Sleep.”
My body went slack against their grip, and I fell into dark memories of lives past and blood spilled upon ancient ground.
Before me lay a valley littered with the dead. Snow settled on the bodies as I walked among them, blood staining the ground black, the stench of carrion flooding my senses. Torn and soiled red cloth lay draped over dull metal and frostbitten skin. The Romans should never have come here to Britain. The massacre was devastating, and the reapers had already descended to feed. Every single man fallen in battle was already burning in Hell. My Guardian and I were too late.
The bitter wind blew my tangled hair around my face streaked with war paint, biting through the wool robes I wore, given to me by a family living in the nearby village that the Romans had attempted to sack. The invaders were most unsuccessful.
A flash of light in the sky made me duck and shield my eyes. When the light dimmed, I looked toward the sky. An angel descended, his golden armor shining, wings spread wide. His face was ethereally beautiful—and vaguely familiar.
“Sister,” he said, his voice musical and elegant.
I stared at him in confusion. “Who are you?”
“Don’t you know me?” His blue eyes studied me curiously and with pity.
“I do know you,” I said, digging deep through my memories. There was something there, far older than my human memories clouding the surface. “Michael. It’s you.”
He nodded. “Yes, Gabriel, my sister. You’re slowly forgetting who you are. You’re becoming more and more human. I hardly recognize you. With all that paint smeared across your face, you look like an animal.”
I lifted my chin in defiance. “It marks me as a warrior.”
“It marks you as human.”
I swallowed and my gaze faltered. I wasn’t human. I was … something else. I was like Michael, an archangel. But I was losing myself. I remembered now that the more times I lived and died, the more like my human vessel I became and the more I left my archangel origins behind.
“Why are you so far north?” Michael asked, his armored boots settling on the frozen ground. He stepped closer to me, the summer warmth of his glory melting the light snow around us.
I was determined not to let his nearness frighten me. “The reapers follow the armies hoping for blood, and every last inch of this island is drenched in it. I’ve come for the reapers harvesting the souls of the fallen soldiers.”
To my surprise, the archangel smiled. “That was a wise tactic. You will need these skills in the future. Many centuries from now, Lucifer’s most powerful servants will be unleashed, and they will attempt to free the ever-expanding armies of Hell. You must stop them.”
“Who are these servants?” I asked. The wind grew stronger, howling in my ears, making it harder to hear anything else.
My vision blurred as the snow fell more heavily, whipping in the air and obscuring Michael’s bright form.
“You know them,” Michael said, but I could barely make out his words. “They are …”
But the wind was too loud, the snow too thick. I couldn’t hear anything. All I heard was a dull roar; I felt the stinging bite of winter, and then someone else’s voice tore me from my memories.
“Wake up, Ellie, and relax,” a voice whispered in my head. It was so gentle and soothing that I took a long, deep breath and melted into the bed. I had every reason to relax. I would be happy if I relaxed. “You’re safe. Relax.” As soon as I obeyed, warmth spread through me and pushed away the dark. I settled deeper into the rumpled blankets, not smiling, but not angry. Just content.
“Ellie?” The second voice, a voice I knew and ached for, I heard with my ears and not my mind. I opened my eyes and looked up into Will’s face. He leaned over me, his warm hand brushing my hair back, his eyes so bright I had to squint when I looked into them. His face was pale and raw as if he was frightened and tired. I wanted to speak to him, tell him that we were safe, but my lips wouldn’t work.
“You’re going to break your necklace if you keep lashing out,” he said gently.
I didn’t look away from Will. I wanted to reach up and touch him, but my arms felt like they were filled with sandbags and sewn together with thread. He leaned over me, and his hands fumbled at something around my neck and then lifted an object off my skin. It was so bright, so blinding white that I couldn’t even make out its shape. I slit my eyes against the brightness, but it seemed that I was the only one who was affected. Will set the blazing object down behind him and brought his hand back to stroke my face.
“Are her eyes back?” Nathaniel asked from somewhere near me.
“She’s back,” Will said.
A shadow fell over my face, but my gaze was still locked on my Guardian. I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to.